


4 AM

by raindrop13



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Lorna/Sonia friendship, Minor Other Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 05:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12647331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raindrop13/pseuds/raindrop13
Summary: Her eyes move unintentionally to Marcos, and then dart back. The way he had looked at her last night, the way he had kissed her, had made things seem simple. But today he hasn’t even spoken to her, and things are quickly growing complicated.





	4 AM

**Author's Note:**

> I am basing this entirely on the show - not the comics. So it may or may not be OOC, weird chronology, etc.  
> 

**Three Years Ago**

“ _Pink_? I don’t even have pink. What about purple? Or _grey_.” The nail polish bottles clink as Lorna shuffles through the basket, her freshly emerald nails glinting. Sonia shrugs, her gaze trained more on her phone than her friend. “Sonia! Stop being a buzzkill.”

The redhead diligently lifts her eyes to consider her options, tapping the shiny aubergine and setting her phone on the table. In chairs to their left, Sage and Shatter are playing cards. To their right, on a couch with more rips than fabric, Pedro and Marcos are watching soccer on one of the Spanish language channels while Elsa lounges on the chair. Both sides occasionally erupt into shouting, although Pedro and Marcos yell at the players, while Shatter’s voice is directed at Sage. “You – that’s not – you said you’d play fair!”

Lorna glances up to see Sage collecting poker chips to add to her many stacks. “I am playing fair,” Sage retorts, “I’m playing the odds, the odds are always fair.” Shatter glares, but deals another hand. They’re playing for nothing, or possibly for chores – it’s not like anyone here has much to lose. There are no refugees in the house at the moment, although three are scheduled to come this week. This is as close to a normal afternoon as a mutant underground headquarters can manage.

Lorna twists open the bottle and Sonia flattens her palms against the table, straightening intently when John walks past the room, then slouching back into her chair. Across the table, two sets of green eyes meet, and both drop to watch the brush coat Sonia’s short nails in purple. There’s no such thing as privacy in this house, but even so, the living room is too public to talk about anything personal. “We have watch together tonight,” Sonia says not-quite-absently, and Lorna’s eyes flicker up again, a tacit agreement to talk about it then.

But watch is hours away, and Sonia is clearly miserable, so Lorna searches for something funny and absurd to make her smile. “We should train the squirrels.”

It works instantly, Sonia’s mouth quirking up incredulously. “To do _what_?”

Lorna shrugs, blowing on Sonia’s nails before starting the second coat. “I don’t know yet. But think about it. There’s, like, hundreds of them. We live in the fucking forest. An army of highly trained squirrels can only benefit us.”

Elsa gasps delightedly, jumping up from her seat. “Oh my God, did you ever see Open Season? That kids’ movie?” Lorna shakes her head, grinning because everyone’s totally into it now and Sonia’s smile is genuine. Elsa pulls up one of the chairs, typing into her phone with one hand. “So, I used to watch it with my sisters’ kids, right, it was like one of _four_ kids’ movies I could deal with, but there’s totally a squirrel army. Look.”

Lorna leans over to watch the YouTube clip, shifting to make room for Sage to see. “Why are they Scottish?” Shatter asks Elsa cynically, peering over Sonia’s shoulder.

“Because it’s a kids’ movie, and accents are hilarious to five-year-olds,” Elsa replies.

“Rude,” Pedro says, in a thicker accent than usual, and all four turn to see Marcos and Pedro peering over the back of the couch.

“Watch your soccer game,” Elsa retorts.

Pedro scoffs, his black eyes narrowing in good humor. “¡ _Fútbol_!”

“Unless you have ideas for how we can use _fútbol_ to train a legion of Scottish squirrels, mind your own business,” Lorna replies, waving her hand absentmindedly over Sonia’s wet nails. Her eyes move unintentionally to Marcos, and then dart back. The way he had looked at her last night, the way he had _kissed_ her, had made things seem simple. But today he hasn’t even spoken to her, and things are quickly growing complicated. Lorna meets Sonia’s eyes again while Sage and Elsa start listing squirrel names. There’s a lot to talk about tonight.

 

“I’m not saying he’s a bad guy. I’m not even saying it’s a bad decision. I’m just saying you’re allowed to _feel_ bad,” Lorna says carefully, watching Sonia’s face. “You dated for like a year. This may suck less than the alternatives, but it still sucks.”

Sonia shakes red hair from her eyes, looking up towards the moon. “It’s just… _he’s_ acting like it doesn’t suck at all, you know? Like, I don’t want him to be _devastated_ , but he’s acting like nothing’s even changed.”

Rounding the corner of the building, Lorna checks the gap between the bushes and the woods before responding. “Well, in fairness, you’re not moping around _him_ either. You’re talking to me. He’s probably talking about it with Pulse.” Sonia bites her lip, nods, and kicks a rock towards the perimeter. They both pause to watch it tumble down the hill. “And he’s always been so fucking stoic, anyway. You’d never know if he _was_ devastated. He’s probably, like, crying and listening to Adele and eating chocolate.”

Sonia snorts, covering her smile with her hand guiltily, before giving in. “I’d almost believe that except for the chocolate. He’s allergic to junk food. He’s listening to Adele and drinking those awful green smoothies.”

“Except with whiskey instead of apple cider vinegar,” Lorna adds.

They cross the narrow gravel path to walk the stretch of woods, listening to the crickets silently. “So, hey, what’s up with you and Marcos?”

Lorna manages to both grimace and scoff. “Speaking of acting like nothing’s changed.”

 

The bug bites are the worst part of watch, Lorna thinks, scratching at her wrist with a scowl. She’d taken the dusk shift to overlap with Sonia’s night shift, but dusk is prime time for mosquitos. She almost wishes they lived somewhere cold, even though she’s already freezing most of the time. Maybe she could join one of the mutant undergrounds that work out of Canada.

Climbing the last set of stairs in the dark, she almost trips over Marcos, who is sitting silently on the top step next to her bedroom door. “Marcos? What the hell are you doing, it’s _four_ in the _morning_. Are you lost?” Marcos falters, and a guilty knot settles uncomfortably in her stomach. “Were you looking for me?”

He seizes the lead. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just didn’t want to go in your room, I didn’t want to invade your privacy, or anything.”

Lorna offers him a small smile, opening the door and gesturing for him to follow. “There’s not a whole lot to invade.”

Marcos looks around as much as he can without gawking. The room is small, and sparsely decorated. Two mismatched dressers sit on the far wall; one is topped with racks of metal bracelets and trays of rings, the other is crowded with boxes of hair dye. An unmade bed sits in the middle of the room, pushed up against the wall across from the lone window. The window itself is cracked, and someone – Lorna, probably – has duct-taped both the crack and the trestle. In the corner between the bed and the door, an armchair with a broken leg has been rigged up next to several stacks of books and a lamp. Lorna flicks on the lamp and sits in the chair, ignoring the loud creak, and pries off her boots.  

“How long have you lived here?” Marcos asks, standing awkwardly in the center of the room, watching as she tosses the boots in the corner.

Lorna glances back, tugging off her jacket and tossing it on the chair. “Seriously? Small talk?”

Marcos grins sheepishly and watches his feet, kicks the floor. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for the small talk? Or sorry for kissing me?”

Marcos’ gaze leaps up, his features distorted in surprise, and then concern. “I’m not sorry for kissing you. I’m – I didn’t mean for you to think that.” He traces her features with his eyes, watching with relief as they soften.

“What did you mean for me to think?” He hesitates, opens his mouth to respond and then closes it again. She huffs, throwing her shoulders back and crossing the room. “Look, Marcos, we’re all in this together. No one gets to make the house miserable for everyone else. So, if last night was a mistake, if you regret it, _fine_ , but don’t take forever to figure it out and string me along and make everything awkward.”

“I don’t regret it, I told you I don’t regret it.” He’s frustrated, but so is she, and she’s willing to bet her frustration is more operable.

“Then what? What are you doing here at four in the morning?”

“I don’t know how to do this!” he growls, louder than he thinks he meant to. Lorna feels her anger ebb as he takes a steadying breath. “It’s not like I can ask you out, you know? It’s not like I can take you to dinner and a movie. In the cartel –” he cuts himself off with an angry shake of his head, looking out the window at the trees. “This is different, I want this to be different, but I don’t know how to do this.”

When he returns his gaze to her, she looks surprisingly vulnerable. Her eyes, framed by the smoky pigment of her mutant marks, seem supernaturally wide; her frame, tiny and pale, seems doll-like in the glow of the moon. But she doesn’t break eye contact. “I don’t know how to do this, either. But I want to. I want to try.” Marcos doesn’t realize he’s smiling until his cheeks begin to hurt. He nods, at her and at his feet and at the window, unable to think of anything to say, feeling a little stupid just grinning and nodding but also the happiest he’s been in recent memory. Lorna fills the silent space between them and wraps her arms around his neck. “But no more of this avoiding me until four am bullshit, okay?” And before he can feel stupid for nodding again, she kisses him.

Outside the house, Pedro directs Sonia’s gaze to the purple and green light shining from the upstairs window. Smirking, Sonia brushes it off, tells Pedro not to mention it, and makes a mental note to find blackout curtains for her friend.


End file.
